After weeks of yo-yoing back and forth like a crazy person, I’ve finally pushed the button and made the big, fat, hairy, scary call to put my house on the market. Even as I write these words I’m tearing up and drafting an email in my head about how I can legitimately pull the pin at the 11th hour....
With one kid gonski and the other vehicularly mobile, my Saturday mornings no longer resemble a scene from the Amazing race. As I sip on my latte and read the paper, I offer that ‘old persons’ empathetic smile to the procession of parents trying to grab a quick takeaway coffee prior to the ‘divide and conquer’ mission that involves wrangling kids into cars and ferrying them off to multiple sporting fields in far flung and (not so) exotic destinations. ...
I’m sitting at my desk, ready to write and all I can hear are the shrieks and squeals of “Marco” (pause) “Polo” from the kids two doors down. It’s happy noise and I’m not bothered by it but it has made me ponder … when did endless pool games and bombies stop being fun? ...
My son is bilingual. Actually, he has become so proficient in his new language that he rarely lapses back into his mother tongue. He picked up his second language with little or no formal instruction (#gifted) … via teenage osmosis I think. You may have heard of it … it’s called Gruntlish...
I have noticed that I am becoming increasingly intolerant. My list of annoyances grows by the day and includes everything from slow walkers, to cyclists, call centre help desks, poontzy dudes in flashy cars and anything to do with the post office. I frequently flip the bird, swear like a sailor when I’m driving and have been known to pull someone into line for trying to jump the queue at Bakers Delight. But all these things pale into insignificance when compared to the angst derived from the supermarket....
Now that I’ve got more time on my hands, I’ve started giving some serious thought to my golden gap year and in doing so I have identified two issues which require a little more consideration. One is furry and the other financial....
Whoever coined the term ‘to age gracefully’ was clearly not in their late 40’s and quite frankly I think they should slide off their hipster high horse and feel what it’s like to barely recognise the face that stares back at them from the bathroom mirror each morning. There is nothing graceful about ageing. Gravity becomes the enemy as your cheeks, boobs and butt start to fall like the Roman Empire and your annual mammogram is the only occasion you'll be asked to appear topless on film....
I have always been quite partial to a girl’s night out. And by girl’s night out, I don’t mean a quiet dinner at a local café followed by a romcom and a few giggles. Nope… I’m talking about a pin your ears back, pull on your party pants, strap on a stiletto and dust off your dance moves circa 1995 kind of night. Granted, such nights are about as spontaneous as a flash mob and require weeks of military style planning to pull off...
After a period of self-indulgent naval gazing, I’ve arrived at an analogy for life, which isn’t as profound as I would have liked. I’ve concluded that life is like a game of footy. Ironic given I’m not a footy fan and nor do I really understand the rules (oh wait … that part could explain a few things). This game called life is being played out in four quarters, punctuated by breaks where the players get to recover and regroup. The first quarter is played at high intensity while players are still fresh, energised and ready to...
I used to be an excellent shopper back in the day … and I mean like ‘world class’ excellent. I could pound the pavement all day long. I knew exactly where to go and who had what. I could spend an hour in the change room without flinching (or needing to pee) and be ready to back up the next day to revisit multiple items I’d put on hold. Fast-forward 20 years and the picture looks a little different. Nowadays, shopping expeditions have a strict time limit in place and some non-negotiable terms and conditions that make...